


Scoot Over

by troublebuster



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, jazz hands, they are both in their mid twenties with jobs and tsukki is overcome with feels at all times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3380933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troublebuster/pseuds/troublebuster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima can’t tell the difference between being in love and dehydration from being outside on very hot days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scoot Over

Lately, kissing Yamaguchi has started to feel like it burns.It’s not like Tsukishima’s lips blister and peel after he pulls away, or anything, but  _something_ ,  _somewhere_  is burning. It’s uncomfortably hot behind his eyes and in his cuticles and in the bend of his knees. When Yamaguchi sticks his tongue in Tsukishima’s mouth and presses their faces together hard and a little desperate, and something about the way Yamaguchi touches him is  _always_  a little desperate, the inside of Tsukishima’s teeth and the back of his throat go warm for hours after. Yamaguchi always touches him like he’s something large and soft that he can sink into if he leans hard enough. Yamaguchi is always trying to get  _closer_ , and Tsukishima is starting to wonder if there isn’t actually enough room in his skin for the both of them.

These kinds of thoughts, sticky and heavy, have the spaces between Tsukishima’s ribs uncomfortably warm. Yamaguchi’s body is not new to him in the slightest, it hasn’t been new to him in years, but he’s starting to feel desperate all the same. Yamaguchi is sitting right next to him and their legs are pressed together, and he’s paying attention to the special on aquatic isopods flickering across their television screen, and it’s absolutely not enough, Tsukishima is burning all the same.

Tsukishima types his symptoms into a search engine when work isn’t busy one day. Fever, dry mouth, shaking hands, sweating, heartburn. The internet solemnly informs him that several of his symptoms suggest heat exhaustion, and he lets out a dry laugh.

⍟

Falling in love with Yamaguchi is not actually like heat exhaustion at all, he decides later that day on his lunch break. He eats his miso ramen thoughtfully, and thankfully the shop he frequents isn’t particularly crowded today so he can sit at the bar and brood in peace.

Falling in love with Yamaguchi hadn’t been particularly quiet, though it also hadn’t been particularly loud either. It had been gradual, though it took years compared to heat exhaustion’s hours. It might have been preventable, though maybe only if Tsukishima wasn’t exactly who he was. Maybe if Yamaguchi had been a little less earnest, and maybe if Tsukishima was a little less observant, maybe if Yamaguchi hadn’t always  _been there_ , smiling and real. Maybe if they were just a shade less themselves.

They’re both very much themselves, though, so Tsukishima feels the most logical progression of events in his life would be to fall in love with Yamaguchi.

Because the thing about Yamaguchi, the inescapable thing about this guy, is that he’s slow-growing, but he still grows, and he grows on  _people_  most of all. He’s a little bit easy to miss at first, not through any fault of his own, but his face is usually pleasantly neutral and he doesn’t talk an excessively small or large amount. He’s a normal guy, honestly. The kind of absently nice guy with open expressions that people put on the back burner for a while.

But then one day, and this always happens, someone will catch him doing something endearing in the corner of their eye, or they’ll suddenly stop and think about the way that Yamaguchi is always refilling the printers or making sure the stapler is full or saying “Good morning!”, and then it goes from there. Once people notice Yamaguchi, they don’t go back to not noticing him. This is how he became so popular at his regular salary man job, and how he became so beloved by their high school volleyball team, and also how Tsukishima ended up so painfully in love.

Yamaguchi was just with him for  _so long_. He wasn’t demanding, didn’t compete for Tsukishima’s attention, he always just sort of slid into place besides Tsukishima. Yamaguchi has always been warm. Yamaguchi has always believed Tsukishima to be something great, someone worth something, and he has always believed this with a matter-of-fact sort of mentality. Even when Tsukishima wasn’t behaving like he was great, like he even had the capability to be great, Yamaguchi was stubborn in his belief. Sometimes he had to convince Tsukishima that he could be better, that he was already better than he thought he was, but he never managed to make Tsukki feel like he was being criticized.

Even if it was a rare instance of Yamaguchi lecturing him, the rare instance of Yamaguchi telling him exactly how he felt, he still felt loved, somehow. Because to Yamaguchi, the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Tsukishima Kei was something dazzling. He was someone who mattered.

Tsukishima isn’t sure if there is anyone on the planet strong enough to resist that kind of dedication, that kind of love. Yamaguchi’s support, his presence, the face he made when he called Tsukishima’s name. All these things hadn’t been ignored by Tsukishima, really, but they weren’t at the forefront of his mind. It was the sort of thing he processed and immediately let slip past him in the way that people let fine details of familiar surroundings slide right through their brains, immediately processed and forgotten. Tsukishima went on like this, for a while, until one day he didn’t.

One day, when he was seventeen and he woke up sweaty and irritated, twisted in his sheets, he wondered why he started dreaming of Yamaguchi trembling and gasping underneath his hands and into his mouth. It took one single thought, one single ‘Has Yamaguchi always been that cute?’, and he was truly done for.

(Because once you notice Yamaguchi, you don’t just go back to not noticing him.)

Tsukishima realizes he’s been brooding and staring into his ramen for an unnaturally long amount of time when he unlaces his fingers from in front of his face to check his watch, and the time has him on the last ten minutes of his lunch break. He pays and tucks the change into the back pocket of his slacks. When he steps outside, he takes a deep breath and rubs at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.

He’s been living together with Yamaguchi for close to two years now and they’ve been together in some way or another since high school, but this is the first time he’s been so caught up just  _thinking_  about Yamaguchi that he couldn’t finish more than half of his meal. He almost wants to laugh at the thought of him being lovesick for the person he’s already been dating for more than five years, but it’s also awful and ridiculous and now his stomach will be growling all through the late afternoon. He tries hard to think about something besides Yamaguchi on the way back to his office, but he can’t. He can’t.

⍟

Life is funny and probably laughing at Tsukishima in specific, too, because he gets a text later that day from Yamaguchi that says, “Sorry, have to go out for drinks with coworkers, don’t wait up!” The text is sprinkled with emoticons, so he’s sure Yamaguchi snuck off to the toilet so he could type it in peace. Tsukishima isn’t sure where the sudden rush of fondness comes from at this thought, but he blinks it away.

This is the third time this month Yamaguchi’s coworkers have found some way or another to get him to hang out with them after work, and while Tsukishima isn’t jealous, he is a tad bit unsettled. A smidge. He wonders, briefly, if Yamaguchi has mentioned him at all (of course he has.) He wonders, briefly, how Yamaguchi described him, or if he ever said the phrase, “My  _roommate_ , Tsukishima,” but the thought makes his nose scrunch and his eyebrows furrow, and he’s sure he looks like he smelled something unpleasant, so he lets that thought die a quiet death.

He clocks out late that night (though it isn’t an hourly pay sort of job and overtime is hassle to file for) and carefully thinks about nothing but what he’ll eat for dinner the entire train ride home.

He grabs a sandwich and parfait from the convenience store at the station when he arrives, and he finds himself thinking of whether or not Yamaguchi had enough cash to cover his share of the bill tonight when he pulls out a two thousand yen note to pay. The cashier slides him his change and bags his food neatly, and he walks out of the store more quickly than usual.

Tsukishima stares up at the night sky the entire time he walks home, and he focuses entirely on picking out the constellations he knows. He exhausts those after two blocks, and switches to trying to sort through the stars until he can pinpoint one he knows the name of. His bag of food bumps noisily against his leg as he walks, and it bumps against the front door when he makes it home and jiggles the key in the lock.

The apartment is dark and quiet and cold, but his mother raised him to be a well-mannered boy so he still says a quiet, “I’m home,” as he toes off his shoes. He flicks the lights on and dumps his work bag on their couch as he passes, and he heads into their kitchen to put away his parfait before heading into their bedroom to change.

He shrugs out of his button-up and steps out of his slacks, throwing both somewhere in the direction of their laundry hamper. He set his glasses on their dresser, tugs on the t-shirt he wore to bed last night, and unfolds a new pair of sweats to yank over his hips. One of Yamaguchi’s black work socks, which he can never seem to find in the mornings, falls to the floor soundlessly as he steps into the sweats. Tsukishima slides his glasses back on his face, and bends down to pick up the sock.

⍟

This sock is not the one Yamaguchi had been hopping around their bed looking for this morning, his shirt open and one leg in his pants. Yamaguchi had a meeting of some sort, early, and Tsukishima blinked blearily awake at ass o’clock in the morning to Yamaguchi swearing softly after knocking his knee into their bed frame. Tsukishima sat up, eyes bleary, before pawing at the bedside table until he located his glasses. He pushed them onto his face, and his eyes are still mostly closed as he regarded Yamaguchi in the early morning light.

Yamaguchi’s tie is tied neatly enough around his neck, but only the top button of his shirt is done. One leg is lifted, half slid into a pair of slacks, but his foot is sockless. He hadn’t noticed Tsukishima yet as he pulled his leg out of his pants in frustration before tossing them back on the bed and dropping to his knees. Tsukishima could hear him slapping the floor under their bed for several moments before he made a triumphant noise and the rest of him pops up to lean on their bed, blue sock in hand. Tsukishima blinked at Yamaguchi, and Yamaguchi looked up and blinked at Tsukishima.

“Tsukki, good morning,” he offered with a smile, and Tsukishima mumbled it back to him, though his face furrowed into something suspicious the more he woke up.

“Yamaguchi,” he started, voice still thick from sleep. Yamaguchi paused in tugging on his sock from where he’d sat himself on their bed and looked up. “What happened to your head.”

“Huh? My head?” He resumed tugging his clothes on, standing up to slide his pants over his butt.

“Your hair. What did you do,” Tsukishima clarified, his tone a little hard for Yamaguchi to gauge.

“There’s a big meeting today, you know, and I’m the one who has to read and discuss the progress report for this current project. I gotta look sharp,” he pushed his buttons through their holes as he talks, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration between words.  He was met with silence when he finished.

It was early and warm in their room, and Tsukishima laughed soundlessly at the top of Yamaguchi’s overly-gelled head. The hair isn’t even gelled back in a consistent direction because Yamaguchi never does things like this, and tufts of his bangs started to spring up as he moved hurriedly. When Yamaguchi raised his head to look at him after he buttoned his sleeves, Tsukishima can’t contain the audible laugh at the section of half-gelled hair on the top of his head flies up and falls forward at his movement.

They ended up spending twenty minutes trying to fix Yamaguchi’s hair, most of which Tsukishima spent making unhelpful comments as he sat on the edge of their bathtub.

Yamaguchi exited their apartment when the sun was still down, his socks matching and his hair patted down.

⍟

Tsukishima blinks, and ignores the urge to smile fondly as he tosses Yamaguchi’s sock at their dresser, and he goes to eat his sandwich alone at their kitchen table in silence.

Yamaguchi comes home sometime after midnight, and his cheeks are pink from alcohol. He isn’t entirely smashed or anything, but he giggles after he calls out, “I’m home, Tsukki,” in a stage whisper. He climbs into bed with Tsukishima with his work clothes still on and knocks his forehead into Tsukishima’s back affectionately.

“Sorry I’m late Tsukki,” he whispers against his back. Tsukishima doesn’t roll over, but his back feels warm.

“Put on your pajamas, Yamaguchi,” he says in a tired voice, and Yamaguchi makes a troubled noise as he rolls off their bed. He tries to be quiet as he undresses, but he’s tipsy and silly and he trips over his pants.

Tsukishima does roll over after he hears Yamaguchi topple over, mostly to make sure he doesn’t just stay on the floor. He watches as Yamaguchi gets to his feet and unbuttons his collar enough to tug it over his head. He watches Yamaguchi’s ribs shift under his skin, and the way he shimmies into flannel pajama pants, and the way that he puts his t-shirt on his backwards without noticing.

Tsukishima wants to fuck him. Yamaguchi is silly and warm and his shirt is inside out and he crawls under their covers murmuring, “Cozy, cozy,” to himself, and Tsukishima absolutely wants to fuck him.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday and they both have work in the morning and Yamaguchi is already snoring against his shoulder softly.

⍟⍟⍟

So, Tsukishima waits. He waits three whole days, until it’s a Friday and they both have Saturday off so they can take their time. Yamaguchi gets home three hours later than him on Friday so he usually eats first, and then he sits with Yamaguchi while he eats his dinner and asks Tsukishima questions about his day in between bites. Today, though, when Yamaguchi bumps open their door with his hip, calling out, “I’m home,” as he toes off his shoes and loosens his tie, Tsukishima just watches him.

Yamaguchi wanders towards their kitchen where he can see Tsukishima sitting at their tiny table, his eyes sharp but his body slouched in some kind of fake-relaxed pose. Yamaguchi greets him, again, and Tsukishima nods at him in return but doesn’t speak.

Yamaguchi watches Tsukishima with something like wariness,  like he’s unsure what happened and he doesn’t want to make it worse by asking, and he sits in his chair across from Tsukishima. It’s kind of unsettling, the way Tsukishima's eyes zero in on Yamaguchi’s hands as he unbuttons his sleeves and flips them up until they sit on the inside of his elbows.

“How was work, Tsukki?” He tries after a moment, his smile tired but sincere. Tsukishima’s eyes go right to his mouth as he talks, and it seems to take him a lifetime of consideration before he meets Yamaguchi’s eyes when he answers.

“Dull,” he says, and his tone is even. Yamaguchi almost sighs.

“Really? At least you weren’t busy, right?” Yamaguchi doesn’t expect an answer so he continues, “I got caught up working and I didn’t get to go for lunch until after three.” He actually does sigh at this, and he lets himself slump forward until his chin sits on their table.

Tsukishima’s head tilts in interest almost immediately, and his gaze is still unreadable, but his tone is full of something when he says, “So you aren’t hungry.” It should be a question but he doesn’t say it like one, and he unlaces his fingers from where they’re tangled in his lap so he can place his elbows on the table and lean forward.

Yamaguchi blinks at him once, twice, and then does a semi-nod, the table beneath his chin cutting off the movement.

“Good.” And Tsukishima pushes himself up from the table by his elbows, his chair sliding from underneath him noisily. He’s still in his work clothes, and his slacks swish as he walks around the other side of the table. Yamaguchi watches him with interest but he doesn’t sit up, not until Tsukki makes his way around to sit on the edge of the table, next to Yamaguchi’s head. Yamaguchi sits up and turns in his seat, staring at Tsukishima and Tsukishima stares back for a moment before he plucks the glasses off of his face with one hand, folding them into his shirt pocket.

He reaches for Yamaguchi’s face wordlessly, his thumbs settling behind Yamaguchi’s ears as he cradles his skull. Tsukishima leans down and kisses Yamaguchi squarely on the mouth. Yamaguchi closes his eyes and presses back without hesitation, his lips warm and closed and pressed heavy. Tsukishima opens his mouth and Yamaguchi follows, and Tsukishima presses into Yamaguchi’s mouth. Yamaguchi makes a small, pleased noise, and Tsukishima doesn’t stop to consider why he goes hot across his chest and in the base of his throat at hearing that noise. He doesn’t want to think about how he pulls Yamaguchi towards himself without thinking, how Yamaguchi’s hands sliding up his chest are warm, warm enough that he wouldn’t mind if Yamaguchi pressed them in behind his ribcage.

Tsukishima pulls away for a moment, and Yamaguchi breathes loud between them. He doesn’t let go of Yamaguchi as he slides off the edge of the table, as Yamaguchi slides backwards in his chair so he can stand up too. His face is open and bright, and  he looks like he almost wants to tease Tsukishima for his dramatics with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t, though. He steps in to Tsukishima and tilts his face the slightest bit up and blinks slowly at him. Tsukishima can read the ‘Kiss me again right now, please,’ on his face so clearly it’s embarrassing, so he ducks back in to make out with Yamaguchi in the middle of their kitchen.

When Tsukishima starts walking Yamaguchi out of the kitchen in between licking at his teeth, Yamaguchi only stumbles once. The laugh he huffs around Tsukishima’s tongue is warm and wet. They get preoccupied somewhere near their small couch, Yamaguchi unbuttoning Tsukishima’s shirt while Tsukishima bites at his jaw. They make it to the bedroom in double the time it should have taken them, and arousal seeps thick and heady underneath Tsukishima’s skin as he slaps at their light switch and sucks, hard, at the side of Yamaguchi’s neck.

Yamaguchi lets out a tiny ‘ah’, and his hands fumble as he tries to push Tsukishima’s open work shirt off his shoulders. Tsukishima pulls away from Yamaguchi’s neck for a moment, straightening so he can push his arms out of his sleeves. His shirt falls to the floor with the crack of plastic, and Tsukishima knows he should probably care about the glasses that possibly just broke in his shirt pocket, but he doesn’t. Yamaguchi is staring at him wide eyed and flushed, and the marks Tsukishima sucked onto his skin are starting to darken. Tsukishima reaches down and starts working on the buttons of Yamaguchi’s shirt, and Yamaguchi presses a kiss to the side of his mouth.

They peel each other out of their pants, and they’re both half-hard as Yamaguchi sits on their bed. Tsukishima stares as they both try to catch their breath. Yamaguchi’s hair is sticking out in strange directions on the side of his head from Tsukishima’s hands, and the sides of his mouth are pink and shiny with Tsukishima’s spit. His nipples are stiff in the cool air of their room, and a flush has worked its way down his neck. He peeks at Tsukishima from underneath his bangs, looking almost sheepish, and it’s cute how he still gets embarrassed when he gets too worked up. He knocks his knee into the side of Tsukishima’s leg and smiles at him, and Tsukishima wants to have him entirely.

He wants every gasp, every curl of his toes, every tremble of his shoulders. He wants every eyelash and every laugh and every freckle and every dark hair on his head. Tsukishima wants him so badly his hands twitch at his sides, his palms hot from sliding over Yamaguchi’s skin.

Tsukishima steps in between his legs and grabs Yamaguchi’s jaw with one hand. He presses at Yamaguchi’s lips with his other hand, his middle finger and ring finger pushing into his bottom lip.

“Tadashi,” he says, quietly, because he knows Yamaguchi will go hot with delight, knows his shoulders will twitch and his mouth will fall open. Tsukishima presses his fingers into Yamaguchi’s mouth. Yamaguchi closes his mouth around them, his lips sucking somewhere near the base of Tsukishima’s fingers. They’re long so he can’t take them to the knuckle, but he presses his tongue in between them to wet them well. He lets his eyes fall closed and runs his tongue on the underside of Tsukishima’s fingers, holding them in place with his teeth. His mouth is so wet, and Tsukishima shivers when he sucks his fingers deeper. The hand on Yamaguchi’s jaw goes slack, and Tsukishima runs a thumb across his cheek affectionately though his eyes are glued to where Yamaguchi’s tongue has darted out to lick at the soft skin in between his fingers.  He’s fully hard in his underwear now, and so is Yamaguchi.

When he pulls his fingers out of Yamaguchi’s mouth, he spreads them and watches Yamaguchi’s spit stretch between them before dripping down onto the floor.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi’s voice is strained and breathy, but Tsukishima raises his eyes from his spit soaked fingers to look at Yamaguchi. ‘Tsukki’ isn’t what he wants to hear today. He hasn’t had the chance to fuck Tadashi in what feels like weeks, and he wants to hear his first name on Yamaguchi’s mouth when he comes.

“Don’t say ‘Tsukki, Tsukki’ all the time, Tadashi,” He says as he climbs over Yamaguchi until he has him pressed into the bed.

Tsukishima reaches down to press his fingers, still wet with Yamaguchi’s spit, against his hole through his underwear, and Yamaguchi lets out a choked sounding, “O-okay.”

⍟

Later, when Yamaguchi pulls his knees towards himself almost desperately as he holds his legs apart, he’s being fucked so hard his breaths are starting to sound like hiccups. Tsukishima has both hands holding the middle of Yamaguchi’s thighs and his eyebrows are screwed up in concentration. He thrusts in sharply and stills this time, leaning into his hips so Yamaguchi feels heavy and full of him, and he lifts his eyes to stare into Yamaguchi’s face.

Yamaguchi isn’t babbling today, instead he looks about on the verge of panic as his chest heaves and he breathes loud, impossibly loud and open-mouthed. Tsukishima can gauge his expressions and knows well enough by now that Yamaguchi is not panicking, he’s simply about three thrusts from coming so hard his shoulders lift from where they’re pressed into their comforter.

He doesn’t like this, though. He doesn’t like that he can’t hear Yamaguchi mumbling to himself, voice hitching every time Tsukki presses in. He leans forward more, lifting Yamaguchi’s hips off the bed with his weight. He slides his hands up to hold Yamaguchi’s legs at the knee as he goes, and Yamaguchi takes him the smallest bit deeper, but it’s enough. He makes a surprised noise and his cock leaks messily against his stomach, though he still doesn’t speak, and neither does Tsukishima.

This silence goes on for longer than Tsukki had honestly prepared for, and he can only pant harshly in response when Yamaguchi tightens around him and wiggles his hips. Tsukishima does not take the hint, though, and Yamaguchi cracks open his eyes at him.

“Hey, Tsukki,” he starts, and his voice is breathy. “What’s up? Did you get a cramp or something?”

Tsukishima looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but he’s balls-deep in Yamaguchi’s ass, so he refrains.

“Why are you so quiet today?” He says after another moment, and Yamaguchi’s eyebrows raise incredulously.

“Huh? Didn’t you just say you were tired of me saying ‘Tsukki, Tsukki’ all the time when we did it?” Yamaguchi’s eyebrows are scrunched up in confusion, and Tsukishima’s face twitches into something like a frown for a moment.

“No, that’s not what I said.” He schools his expression and tries to keep his tone even, but he’s still hard and Yamaguchi is so  _hot_ inside and he thought this exchange would go a lot faster than it is. It’s distracting.

“I guess I heard wrong, then,” Yamaguchi says dismissively, and shifts his hips, impatience creeping into his voice.

“I said I wanted you to call me by my name,” Tsukki presses on, and Yamaguchi stills at this. He cranes his neck up as far as it can go so he can stare Tsukishima directly into his eyes, and his mouth is open in a neat little ‘o’.

“Seriously?” It’s not supposed to be an accusation and it doesn’t come out like one, but it could have been, because Yamaguchi knows Tsukishima has never said anything as direct as that in his entire life, let alone ten minutes ago when he was fingering Yamaguchi’s mouth. There’s a flush on his face and his chest, and his bangs are starting to stick to his forehead. He runs his hands over the sides of his legs thoughtfully, brushing Tsukishima’s fingers where he’s holding him.

“I guess that’s what that meant then…” He mutters, almost to himself, and lays his head back down on the bed. “I thought you meant I was being too loud or something.”

Tsukishima finds himself biting back an immediate retort of “I  _like_  when you’re loud. I want you to be even louder.”

Yamaguchi breathes in deeply. “Okay… Kei.” Tsukki can hear the smile in Yamaguchi’s voice, and something warm and dark settles near the bottom of his esophagus when he hears his own name. “Kei,” and Yamaguchi says this an octave higher than the rest of his words, like he can’t really help it, “can we keep going?”

Tsukishima feels impossibly warmer over the back of his shoulders and down his spine every time Yamaguchi says his name, and he guides Yamaguchi’s legs together and holds them there instead of answering. He smiles to himself at the choked noise Yamaguchi makes in response. He can press forward the slightest bit more like this, so he does, and Yamaguchi’s thighs pressed together and his hips lifted have Tsukishima almost breathless with how tight he is, and something else too. He’s breathless with how vulnerable Yamaguchi is like this.

There’s no way for him to see Tsukishima’s face like this. There’s no easy way for Tsukishima to gauge how he’s doing by Yamaguchi’s voice or even by how much his dick is leaking messily onto his stomach. There’s just Tsukishima’s hands holding insistent at Yamaguchi’s legs so they stay pressed together. There’s just whatever noises Yamaguchi makes and how much he clenches around Tsukishima inside of him. If Tsukki wanted to bend Yamaguchi’s knees until they were inches from his mouth, if he wanted to fuck Yamaguchi in half until his hips shook, he so easily could. And Yamaguchi, trusting, darling Yamaguchi, lets him. He doesn’t even resist, just presses his legs together for him and presses his hips back against Tsukki, trusting him to get them both off, trusting that Tsukki will know if it’s good for him, and something like a hot rush of affection and disbelief rise to cling and burn at the back of Tsukishima’s throat. Yamaguchi loves him, and he knows it, and it burns. It absolutely burns.

Tsukishima swallows thickly around the sugar sweet thoughts burning in his throat and he pulls out slowly. He stops when only his tip inside, and he leans forward so he can press Yamaguchi’s legs towards his chest so he has more room to look as he sinks back in.

And he does. He looks down and watches. Tsukishima watches himself press in, watches Yamaguchi take him, all of him, and pants through his nose as he goes. Yamaguchi opens up for him and sucks him in and he squeezes around every inch of Tsukishima he receives, like he doesn’t want Tsukki to ever pull back out, like he knew Tsukishima would fill him up the way he liked and he’s savoring it. Tsukishima presses forward, and Yamaguchi is always almost unbearably hot inside, but he’s almost unbearably tight like this too, and he watches with wide eyes as Yamaguchi sucks him in to the hilt. Yamaguchi moans, but it sounds almost relieved once he’s filled. The thatch of dark hair above his dick brushes against Yamaguchi’s balls like this, when he’s all in, and he can feel Yamaguchi’s shudder around his cock and through his legs where he holds them up.

“Kei, Kei,  _please_ ,” Yamaguchi pants, and Tsukishima can just make out the embarrassed hitch in his voice at using his first name. Tsukishima’s face goes hot with pleasure and something in the bottom of his stomach tightens in arousal even further at the way Yamaguchi’s voice cracks when he says his name for the second time. “You’re so big like this, Ts—Kei. You’re really, really big.”

Tsukishima burns impossibly hotter at the way Yamaguchi pants out his words, the way he sounds like he’s in wonder. He fucks into Yamaguchi hard enough that his thighs slap against the back of Yamaguchi’s legs. Yamaguchi’s moan sounds more like a sob.

When Yamaguchi comes, it’s with a groan of “Kei, oh my god,” and Tsukishima’s heat exhaustion lessens.

⍟⍟⍟

It’s early on the following Sunday that Tsukishima gets a call. His cellphone buzzes insistently somewhere on the floor, and he rolls over and presses his face into the top of Yamaguchi’s spine in an attempt to ignore it. He’s gifted with thirty seconds of silence before the buzzing starts again, and when he turns to grope the floor, he taps his screen harder than necessary to accept the call. It’s Akiteru.

“Hello,” he says, voice groggy and impatient.

“Hello, Kei? It’s big brother Akiteru!” Akiteru’s voice is bright and full of mirth, too bright for being awake before ten in the morning on the weekend. Tsukishima briefly considers hanging up.

“How are you? How’s little Tadashi from school?” He continues, and it seems like a frivolous call, so Tsukishima says, “Asleep. He’s asleep, and so am I. Call back later,” and he hangs up. Before he can even set the phone back on the floor, though, it buzzes again.

When he answers this time, he doesn’t say anything at all. “Where did I go wrong,” Akiteru sighs dramatically into the receiver. “You were so cute as a kid, you know that? It was always like, ‘Nii-chan! Show me another dinosaur book!’ or ‘Nii-chan, I’m going to touch a shark every day when I’m grown up.’ Or even ‘Nii-chan I’m going to play volleyball with you in the Olympics.’”

“Who are you talking about right now. What child are you referring to,” is Tsukishima’s monotone reply, though something must have given away the annoyed expression he’s making, because Akiteru laughs.

“You know, Machi’s been asking about you. You and Uncle Tadashi. She wants to know when you’re going to come arm wrestle her for real.” His voice goes softer when he mentions his daughter, and Tsukishima’s expression goes softer hearing about her.

He hadn’t seen Machi or her little brother, Keiji, in about a month, since the last time he babysat while Akiteru tried to ‘keep the flames of romance bright and burning’ or whatever it was he called his date nights with his wife. Machi was a curious second grader with a will of steel, and she always somehow managed to scale Tsukishima like a tree until she was perched on his shoulders.

The last time he saw her, she had beat him soundly at several card games and then explained every picture she had drawn in school that week and also how her best friend Hana was really good at finding ant hills and snails to Yamaguchi while he cooked dinner. Yamaguchi called her “Macchan” and he let her braid his hair messily after they helped Tsukki wash the dishes.  

Keiji, a serious kindergartener who toddled after his sister almost everywhere, had insisted on helping cook too. Yamaguchi had let him measure out the rice and water, and he nodded and said, “I got it,” after every direction Yamaguchi gave. Yamaguchi always, without fail, said “Kei-chan, you’re the best!” whenever he handed him a bowl or a towel.

Machi had told them, in great detail, about the cat their mom found and brought home the week before while they ate dinner. Keiji interjected often with things like, “She is fluffy,” and “She pees in a box in the corner, sometimes.” Yamaguchi listened intently, and when they were done, he gave them small cakes he picked up from the bakery across from the train station near his job, and he asked them to review the taste for him.

It was all so sweet, Tsukishima had heartburn until he woke up the next morning.

“Speaking of Machi… Kei, what are you doing later today?” Akiteru’s voice rings in his ear, and Tsukishima rubs a hand across his face tiredly.

“Do you need me to be doing something later today?” Akiteru sighs at his response fondly.

“Yeah, actually. You see, Machi told me that since it’s almost the end of summer, she can’t be the only loser who didn’t catch a beetle.”

“I see.” Tsukishima says, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t know how to catch beetles, Kei! I can’t climb a tree,” Akiteru whispers like he’s afraid his children will hear and know their dad is a bugless loser.

“What makes you think I know how to catch a beetle, either?” Tsukishima turns his head to check if Yamaguchi is still asleep, and is greeted with his open mouth and a light snore.

“Kei, c’mon! Didn’t you and little Tadashi catch things together when you were eight? You totally did. Kei,” Akiteru’s voice is accusatory.

“Why do you keep calling him ‘little Tadashi’? We’re twenty-six years old.” He says instead, and he can almost hear the grin in Akiteru’s voice when he replies.

“Okay, big boy Tadashi, then. You’re coming, right?” Tsukishima sighs. “Okay then, that’s a yes, I’ll see you at… hmm, let’s say two. Bring a net! Bye bye!”

Akiteru hangs up before Tsukishima can argue. Tsukishima shoves his phone under his pillow and stares at the ceiling, and Yamaguchi mumbles something in his sleep.

He rolls over and dozes off again, and Yamaguchi throws a warm arm over him. Tsukishima considers Yamaguchi’s sleeping face, and is mildly horrified to find himself considering asking his older brother if he knew what heat exhaustion felt like.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING I DONT KNOW WHAT IM DOING ANYMORE AND THIS PROBABLY READS VERY WEIRD. WHATEVER
> 
> this is an entirely self servicing fic, in case you couldnt tell. soon tsukki will be wearing crew socks and nike sliders and yamaguchi will be cradling a cicada lovingly. leah brand tsukkiyama
> 
> i dont know what else to say, thank you to toma for looking this over and also dating me, thanks to erica for always talking tsukkiyama with me on skype and for drawing such good stuff, thank you to lin and eris for supporting me always and for being skilled and beautiful, thank you to the tit slap duo for being cool, thank you to everyone who offered to beta, and thank you to amanda who told me to write the filthiest tsukkiyama i could and now its a massive feels fest instead. how did this happen
> 
> ciao babies
> 
> edit// this is fine as a standalone probably


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